


The Slytherin Locket

by Solace (PenelopeGrace)



Series: The Slytherin Locket [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bondage, Dungeon, F/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut, erotic asphyxiation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-03
Updated: 2018-09-03
Packaged: 2019-07-06 08:37:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15882480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PenelopeGrace/pseuds/Solace
Summary: "Aren't you a perfect picture of innocence?""I didn't realize I needed your approval."Prompt: Horcrux Sex





	The Slytherin Locket

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! Look at how many fucks I give. NONE! Bye!
> 
> This takes place during Horcrux hunt.

The locket felt like a part of her when she first put it on. It absentmindedly swung gently between her fingers as she continued to research Darker spells, curses, and rituals. She admitted she was reading more than she should be, but logically, the monster once known as Tom Riddle would had read every single one of these books and she had to know the Dark Arts as much as he knew, if not more. To defeat the enemy, she must know him.

Hermione blinked slowly and yawned. The words on the page swam mockingly. She sank herself to the table, folding her arms on it. Her head rested on the ratty Dark book studying the perverse and obscure ritual called  _Amat sanitatem_. A part of her found it fascinating, but the ritual was. . . Dark beyond words.

Yawning once more, she quickly fell asleep.

-

Her head was at an awkward angle. Raising her head up, Hermione looked at her surroundings with shock. She was in a white room, and if she twisted herself around, she could see there were no doors or windows. No obvious means of escape. Chains rattled above her, and Hermione bit back a curse at the chains holding her wrists up from the ceiling. She pulled at them, but they were bolted securely. Too securely.

Where the hell was she?

She couldn't remember how she got here. Here was some dungeon of some sorts. Her breaths were coming faster. She scolded herself. Logic. No fear. Must stay calm. Stay calm. Panic would make escape impossible. She knew this. Ron knew this. Harry knew this. She had to breathe, regain control over herself. Breathe.

She counted backwards from 10 and then counted up to 10. It took a few tries to shake off the overwhelming anxiety and heart-racing fear. Well, she couldn't get it off completely. But it was enough for her to  _think_.

She closed her eyes and tried for an Apparition, despite having never done Apparition without a wand. She could feel something stopping her, like a ward. She tried removing the chains as well, but like before, her magic was blocked and Hermione was no slouch at wandless magic.

Whoever was holding her was prepared. Extremely.

"Hello, Hermione," said a voice behind her. It was a smooth, velvety voice that did not belong to someone who would string her up and chain her wrists for amusement. Yet it did.

The dark-haired man moved around her in his black robes, his black eyes appraising every inch of her, as if he could see right through her clothes. Hermione tried not to shiver under his smug gaze, but he caught the sight of her fear and his fine lips curled up in greater amusement.

She shivered harder.

He raised his hand to her face, and she flinched. She wasn't sure what he was planning to do, but she thought she was in for the beating of her life. She closed her eyes shut, ready for the sting of his palm.

Instead, there was the softest touch made by his knuckle at her chin. She flinched, and he stops, waiting for her to stop moving—to only breathe in severe anticipation of what's to come. Once she was fully composed of herself again, he began to move—slowly, tantalizingly slow. His knuckle followed her jawline to where her jaw ends and travels down her neck, feeling her heartbeat drum quickly. He brushed by the lines of her collarbone, and to her disappointment, drew himself away.

Her eyes snapped open and watched as he shrugged off his black robes to reveal a simple white collared shirt with a pair of sharp black trousers. He was barefoot, quiet as he circled her again.

She tried to keep watch as he moved, pivoted, and considered. His eyes were not cold, but they were  _not_ friendly either. Then again, Tom Riddle was a master of many faces. His thoughts were unclear to her, but she knew her own reactions as she practically wilted under his gaze. In his eyes, she was a piece of meat to buy or discard or a tool to be sharpen or thrown. She was being analyzed, and when he completed the circle he made around her, she felt cold under the aim of his wand.

He smirked at her. "Now be very quiet and still, Hermione. You wouldn't want me to make mistakes." His voice lingered lazily on  _mistakes_ , his dark eyes flashing with something she could not name. Eagerness? Delight? Insanity?

She, at first, did not understand what he was talking about.

A slashing movement of his wand sliced cleanly at her upper arm, not a nick in her skin. Her favorite grey sweater, the same one her parents gave her last Christmas, was positively ruined as he picked certain areas to nonverbally cut through. The sweater fell away to the floor, and she stood there in a sheer white lacy camisole with jeans and sensible pink panties. Her stomach dropped in horror as she realized he could easily view the hard nips in her camisole. His precise control of his magic did unthinkable things to her body, and she swore on Marlin's fucking beard that it was certain  _not_  the hottest thing she had ever seen in her life.

It took him only three uses of the Severing Charm to destroy her jeans. The chains rattled as she shivered in her new state. Her legs were bare, and her camisole and panties covered her as much as a one-piece bathing suit did, but under his calculating stare, she might as well be naked. She certainly felt naked, and a leap of excitement rushed through her. She was warm and empty, and positively aching for  _something, anything._

The wand in his hand disappeared; his long, pale fingers pulled up her camisole. He moved closer to her, his breath minty and cool against her cheek. He towered over her, and at this point, his presence was unmistakably powerful. Dominating. She forgot to breathe as he hitched the bottom of her camisole up. His fingers tickled against her stomach, and she forced back a sound.

"Aren't you a perfect picture of innocence?" He laughed, pulling up her camisole until it was over her head. Her chest was unprotected from his sight. He must had cast a Sticking Charm to make sure the camisole stayed after he let go. "Ugly sweater, white camisole, ill-fitting jeans, and an soft pink pair of panties."

Her words flew out of her mouth before she could take them back. "I didn't realize I needed your approval."

A sudden pinch of her nipple sent her gasping. He smoothly told her, "By the end of this, I'll have you  _doing_   _anything and everything_ you can to gain my approval. So listen carefully,  _slut."_

"I'm not a slut!" She winced after she protested. There was no way she wasn't going to be punished for saying that.

But he didn't. His palms circled under her breasts, sliding down her sides. She shivered, not in fear, but at the electrifying sensations he gave her. "Oh, Hermione. You will be begging to be one."

His words were no threat but a dark promise. He pulled away from her and placed a cold metal object around her neck. "Do you know what this is?" Its familiar shape and weight swayed between her breasts.

"The Slytherin locket."

"Guess you do have some brains." He paused, then continued, "While your brains are still functioning, let me assure you that the only colors you'll ever be wearing again are green or black, assuming if you're wearing anything at all." He yanked down the necklace, forcing her to bend to his will. "This will always be around your pretty little neck. My mark on you. For eternity. And"—his hand dived cruelly down her panties, fingers running through her pubic hair while Hermione's mind turned blank and her mouth parted—"will always be clean shaven. Otherwise, I'll never reward you and you'll never be  _mine._ "

His warmth withdrew once again, and Hermione's cunt clenched and unclenched at emptiness. He kicked at her right foot.

Instinctively, Hermione set her feet apart. His fingers tugged at her underwear, pulling it this way and that, making it tighter and taut. It rubbed against her cunt and narrowed Hermione's world to these simple pleasures.

"Ow!" The panties burned her and fell to the floor.

He smugly said, "It was a pleasure seeing them go." His fingers flicked her nub, and his middle finger proddled at her hole. "So sopping wet, slut."

The denial escaped her lips. "No, I'm not!"

Moving faster than lightning, he twisted the locket and choked her with the thin chain, enveloping her in his grasp. Though she could not see him, she could feel him pressed  _hard_ against her as he intimately cut off her air supply. She froze, her heart beating quick. "I do not like people telling me  _lies._ "

She stopped resisting against him, going against all instincts to fight. She struggled for a breath, inhaling slowly. She simply let him carry her weight, her efforts to flee, to fight, to  _live_  evaporating into thin air. He was letting go of the necklace as she surrendered, boneless in his arms. She was but a dead weight trying to swim against the current that was this powerful wizard, and she could no longer fight but to ride along and see where he'll carry her to. It was the only option that ever was.

His next words were a comfort. "Good slut."

Her insides warmed. Wetness pooled at her cunt, dripping freely for him to see—to touch, if he willed to. Fingers brushed featherlight, and he slid in his middle finger, embarrassingly easy. There was a sense of deep irony here, the idea of him fucking her with just his middle finger. She held back a moan as he curled it in the right way. His other hand rubbed comfortably over the small of her back, his arm wrapped snugly around her.

"How many boys and men have came here before?" He asked.

She bit her lip, not quite sure of his reaction to her answer. A chilling look in his eye told her to admit it. "Two."

Another finger slid in. "Slut. Who was it?"

"Victor and Harry," she croaked out.

"So you had the Chosen One's cock in you. The Belgium seeker had a taste of you. You are a whore for famous men." Her heart thumped at the smirk on his lips. He ripped away her camisole, lifted her right leg to his naked hip, and stopped at her entrance. "Look at me."

She got an eyeful of his cock. It was fully erected with a pulsing vein. Almost like weeping, precum dripped from its slit, and Hermione would be lying if the sight of it didn't make her palms sweaty.

He entered her in one move, and it felt like she was on fire. She was gripping him so tight, whimpering from the pain. It had been so long. . . She clenched around him, trying to push him out. He hissed at her, "Yesss. . . Keep tightening your little cunt."

She ordered her muscles to relax. To her relief, he thrusted slowly and steadily, never reaching a fast pace that would hurt her even more. Somewhere in between his thrusts, pain numbed away into pleasure. A little moan escaped her lips. The pressure coiled in her stomach, seeking to unravel.

He paused, ending the delicious friction that was making her see stars. "Enjoying this, little Mudblood?"

"Please," she softly begged, barely even louder than a mouse's squeak. He reveled when she begged, she realized.

"What are you?"

She knew the answer he was looking for. She always knew the right answer. But she wasn't sure if she wanted to give it. "I. . . I. . ."

He lifted both of her legs and slammed at a harsher angle, hitting her cervix with fury. The chains at her wrists rattled noisily. "Perhaps you haven't understood the question, little whore.  _What. Are. You?"_

The pressure inside her exploded, and she dropped her head in sweet relief. He kept pounding at her, the wet sounds of her arousal and the smacking of the flesh the only things she could hear. Her muscles collapsed, and the man once known as Tom Riddle completely supported her weight. He pulled out of her, dripping cum at her hole.

She barely noticed that the chains were no longer holding her wrist as he dropped her to the floor. She gasped, her head avoiding the hard floor.

He stood in front of her, his height menacing. She shivered when he gave her his next order.

"On your knees, slut."

Her limbs ached, and she swore that she wanted nothing more than to sleep, but the Dark Lord's words promised punishment if she disobeyed. She pushed away her thoughts and sat on her knees with great difficulty, wincing as her legs folded.

"What are you?" he asked once again. His erection stood in front of her face, so close to her mouth. Wetness pooled in her stomach.

"A slut."

"Wrong answer."

Her heart skipped a beat. No, not possible. She always gave the right answer. It didn't make any sense.

"Open your mouth." His cock, musky and hard, pushed in between her lips. "No teeth." Holding her by her hair and pumping into her mouth, he raggedy added, "Touch yourself."

Her eyes glanced up at his red glowing eyes, tears watering as he hit the back of her throat again and again. Her hands came to her clit. Her left hand spreaded her lips. Her right hand squeezed her breast, ran down her side, and rubbed desperately at her clit. It was pitiful how it only took six strokes to send her spiraling down her climax.

The Dark Lord growled, "Mine." He slipped out of her mouth and released her hair. Cum sprayed over her face.

She collapsed on the hard marble floor, cum sticking between her thighs and adorning her face and wild hair. His cum was still dripping from her cunt. The locket was twisted at her neck, snuggly blocking her airway again.

"Definitely a slut," he said. "But mine." She could hear footsteps as he walked away.

-

She woke up with a gasp. The locket was twisted at her neck, and she quickly unraveled its hold on her. Her panties was sopping, and she blinked in the dim light.

"Hermione?" whispered Harry, sitting down on her little bed. "Are you alright?"

Hermione relaxed, throwing her arms around his familiar shoulders. She couldn't voice what she saw or experienced. But nevertheless, she wondered aloud, "What happens in dreams don't happen in reality."

"Right, Hermione," agreed Harry, his hand running up and down her back in the most soothing rhythm. Her head was on her shoulder, and her brown eyes were shut tight.

Looking straight at nothing but shadows, Harry's eyes glowed a light red.

**Author's Note:**

>  **The Slytherin Locket** is the first in **The Slytherin Locket** series. IT WILL BE CONTINUED.


End file.
